


Hands of Fate

by Peacockery



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Body Worship, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Master/Pet, Minor Suggestive Themes, Pet Names, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: Don't bite the palm which feeds you.





	Hands of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> My first post of 2019: trying to do a resolution of updating my account once a week, be it ficlets or chapters.
> 
> This was a weird musing idea I had earlier, lawl.

The King’s hands were so big.

 

When fully splayed, palm to palm, his fingers completely ate up the Duke’s. Rouxls could make out the faintest outlines of roughness behind the blue cloth exterior of the monarch’s flashy gloves, so overwhelmingly thick and broad that he envisioned them wrapped around his throat; the thumb and forefinger, at least. The King of Spades was huge, built like a bull with a temper to match. Beneath the deceiving rolls of his portly frame rippled a suit of pure muscle around his terrible bones, of which the Duke of Puzzles had become well acquainted with during his length of service. To be seated now upon a great knee was a test of his loyalty, like a songbird settled upon the side of a grand cobra. 

  
  


Between the choice of being a beautiful lapdog or the newest whipping toy, Rouxls happily chose the former. He was smart in that regard. The King had taken a liking to his looks and impressive wit, so the least he could do was perform his very best for the terrible ruler. His head tilted as his curiosities swam, tapping his fingers against the massive paw. His eyes slipped into a soft squint while pressing his middle finger harder against a covered finger pad. It felt thicker. Rouxls looked up at the fingertip. The glove was rather pointed...come to think of it, he had never seen his King without gloves. A childish smile wavered its way across his indigo skin, and he held it foolishly when his master snorted.

 

“What are you snickering at, Duke?” The King growled. Rouxls wisely pulled his hand away and giggled a sweet little trill that heated the tyrant’s cheeks. 

 

“Thy King! Thoust hand art akin to a kitten’s paw!” He announced boldly, relying on his title to shield him from harm. It didn’t work.

 

A startled squeak broke out of him when the King firmly grabbed his wrist and gave it an intense squeeze. Rouxls curled and jerked under him, squealing and choking in pain until the brutal hand relented. He had his fingers digging into the thick wrist, trembling and panting and giggling in shaken terror as he shifted upon the mighty knee.

 

“I-I hath mistaken…” 

 

But the King didn’t relent. From the angle that his hooded face was tilted, he appeared to be staring directly at the Duke’s face. He lifted his delicate kitten’s paw and moved it right towards the little bimbo’s mouth. Rouxls flinched from the closeness but didn’t rebel. His lips quivered against the menacing point of a hidden claw, parting his lips reluctantly as it pushed hard. It took a lot for him not to act on his gag reflex; the finger was….he would rather not put into thought on its size and connotation. A dark chuckle gurgled out from the King’s gut mouth, pushing hot breath against the Duke’s thin belly as the dark monster sneered from his true maw. He pushed the blunted pad hard against the little blue tongue, enjoying the uncomfortable squirming elevating from both the tiny muscle and it’s sinewy owner. A seedy thought passed through his mind, but the King graciously chose not to act on it.

 

“Am I a kitten, Duke?” He rumbled softly, tone betraying his intent. It was a joy to watch the fool trying to shake his head with a full mouth.

 

“Are _you_ a kitten?” It was a dehumanizing title for a monster as proud as Rouxls. It was weak strength. It was threatless power. Witnessing a defeated nod, stuttered as it was...it warmed the King’s foul black heart. He withdrew his large digit and brought it up to join its brethren in roughly petting through the snowy hair mopping the pitiful bastard’s head. Rouxls whimpered and clawed at the air, struggling to not fuss over it. He liked order. He reveled in control. The King would never give him either, but he could at least dangle the carrot a bit. The large hand settled into a slower rhythm, almost hypnotic from how slow and gentle it became. As expected, Rouxls loosened up under the soft pleasure of a head rub, rocking along with the direction his master’s hand dragged. 

 

“Are you my little kitten?” A soft voice growled into his ear. Obedient, The Duke nodded. When the hand pull back did he open his eyes, regarding his ruler with a restless look. The King’s smile was unnervingly warm, but he fell for it every single time. The longer it persisted, the more Rouxls felt his heart fluttering and his cheeks warming up. He nodded again when the question returned, planting his smaller hands against his master’s broad chest when the mighty paw returned to start scratching down his back. The other gripped his bicep in a python’s squeeze once his first moan tickled through his throat, and Rouxls began to feel the scratches lingering closer to his rump where they slipped back again into soft pets.

 

“Look at you, so small…” The King continued to whisper close to him. He curled his fingers against the small of the Duke’s back, right where the spine met the sacrum and watched his little Duke wiggle and trill from the tiny spark of pleasure. His nerves were so flighty, so sensitive…

 

It was intensely exciting.

 

“Do you have the discipline to carry my torch, Duke?” The King asked, digging the blunted tip of his gloved claw into the small of that back and tightening his grip harder on Rouxls’ arm when he jumped. “I demand nothing less than perfection from you.” He flattened his palm again, his gutmouth licking its lips from the deeply unhinged pleasure he heard from his pet’s ragged gasps. Stars above…

 

Rouxls whimpered something nonsensical against his neck, but the monarch understood the gist of it. He had steadily honed the art of picking key words out of the epics Rouxls prattled out: the twit could exhaust five hundred words intending to describe three. 

 

He paused his movements when Rouxls started to squirm. He released him completely as the Duke sat up straight and began to play with his hair; he almost put it up for a moment. The King observed in an unfittingly polite silence. His little bootlicker was a beautiful thing. At just the precise angles, one could make the innocent assumption that he was a woman. His voice was a silky little trill that matched the sleekness of his design. Dare the King admit that his little puzzler was attractive? He certainly couldn’t blame himself. It was very lonely at the top. He was now the one being watched by those twinkling eyes with their large, batting lashes. Doe eyes. They reminded him of Lancer’s mother and the King leered softly at that reminder. Jarred back to reality, he leaned back and cupped the Duke’s shoulder again.

 

“Am I not a generous ruler?” He rumbled softly. Rouxls was staring at the hand touching him, tittering something under his breath and swallowing as he realized his mistake. Inhaling bravely, he respoke.

 

“Thoust art mosteth kind, s-sire…”

 

“Do you appreciate your position, Duke?”

 

“I doeth, thy liege.”

 

It was important to reward the faithful. There was simply too few servants these days that could prove their loyalty to him; he had done unspeakably terrible things to the unworthy. Paranoia spoke so convincingly like that. He removed his hand and turned it to face the back towards his little beauty, watching the gears turning amongst the rocks in that pretty little head. Rouxls eventually caught on, shyly poking the air with his own slender fingers as he debated on touching the hand that steered his life. His hands dug into the sides of the fabric as if he were tearing through tissue paper, grabbing and pulling upwards in a spider hold until the glove slipped off. They both looked at the exposed hand, taking note of the ebony claws crowning blunted tips. Rouxls knitted his brows while touching along the warm skin, in awe over how soft it was despite the otherwise rough hide of his master. He turned the heavy limb around and perked up considerably at what he saw.

 

Paw pads. His King had paw pads.  _ And they were pink. _

 

Pink!

 

The King had big pink jelly beans!

 

He couldn’t stop himself. He held the big paw while pushing his forefinger against one of them, unabashedly giggling in utter glee at the soft resistance it gave. The finger twitched out of reflex, but he didn’t care. Paw pads!  **Paw. Pads.**

 

What tickled him more was how put off his master was about it. The King snorted and jerked all of his fingers in a clawing fashion, but remained mostly still. His patience was wearing thin...but did he enjoy the sensation?

 

The brute was always so hard to read. He was violent and unyielding, and yet he had moments of sweetness that only the Duke received. It made Rouxls’ head spin, but surely his King knew why. The King knew everything, and all kings have good plans. At least, that was what the King told him. But if Rouxls could sit here, almost in his lap, playing with his (unbearably cute) hand and not be grabbed at again, then surely he was doing something right. So, he selfishly reveled in it. He rubbed his thumb across the same pad, admiring the softness and the light shine it had. His boldness upgraded to recklessness when he changed to rubbing his face against the different big beans and smelling the warm cocktail of skin, sweat and damp fabric. He heard a soft rumble bubbling out from the large gut mouth and a glance up gave him the delight of seeing a lost pout on the rather featureless cowl of his ruler. The King seemed hesitant to act, but his skin was flushing to a much warmer state than expected. 

 

Cheek still against warm digits, he batted his big doe eyes up towards his king. Puzzling.

 

A surprisingly tender gesture came next. Using his still-gloved hand, the King moved to sweep a stay lock of hair from out of his Duke’s eyes.

 

“Will you stay here for me, Duke?” His voice was but a hush at this point, but he still bared his fangs in a fragile leer.

 

Rouxls frowned, shying himself away. He looked at the paw he was holding, remembering every horrid memory he had of it leaving a mark on his skin. Every choke, yank, smack...then he looked to those soft pink pads which stood out in a cotton candy contrast with the silvery blue skin. Those sweet beans brought him such joy...the strand of hair fell back into his eye again, and he remembered the sweet gesture.

 

The King never used to be like this, that he knew. He was still in there, buried and suffocating under strain, poison and a crumbling heart. Watching him repeat the moving of his hair again reminded Rouxls of those olden days. He frowned, but rested his cheek back against the thick palm again. He felt its partner rubbing along the small of his back once more.

 

“Will you serve me, Duke?” The voice croaked again, almost in a building growl.

 

“I...I will serve thee.”  
  
The pressure on his back deepened. He felt like he was in an embrace he couldn’t leave. The fingers along his forehead wiggled in almost reassuring strokes.

 

Almost.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Requests or comments? Check out the sites listed on my profile!


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